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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647749">Sword bound.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witheredtears/pseuds/Witheredtears'>Witheredtears</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fantasy, One Shot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:53:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,114</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647749</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witheredtears/pseuds/Witheredtears</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As so many before them, the latest hero wakes in the Alchemist's residence, they trust the old Alchemist, as he equips the hero with tools, weapons and provisions for the trip to the mountaintop.<br/>Grateful, they wave the Alchemist goodbye, he of course doesn't wave back, his only arm holding his ancient staff, his stump pressed against his old body.</p><p>The new Hero worries about the Alchemist. Not only is he the oldest person he ever seen, but his health and magic seems to be failing him more and more.</p><p>They will bring him the blade, this they swear.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sword bound.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There's a magic sword atop the kingdom's tallest mountain. Everyone knows of it, everyone has heard the legend of the Hero that wielded it a lifetime ago.</p><p>Everyone knows it's cursed.</p><p>It mourns the Hero's death some say, it slays the unworthy others whisper.</p><p>Every few years, a naive Hero wannabe will try to claim the blade, the few who survive the treacherous terrain fall under the hordes of monsters.</p><p>No one is sure if anyone has even made it to the blade.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p> ------~wTw~------ </p>
</div>As so many before them, the latest hero wakes in the Alchemist's residence, they trust the old Alchemist, as he equips the hero with tools, weapons and provisions for the trip to the mountaintop.<p>Grateful, they wave the Alchemist goodbye, he of course doesn't wave back, his only arm holding his ancient staff, his stump pressed against his old body.</p><p>The new Hero worries about the Alchemist. Not only is he the oldest person he ever seen, but his health and magic seems to be failing him more and more.</p><p>They will bring him the blade, this they swear.</p><p>The path is a death trap on it's own, add in the countless monsters and beasts, and is no wonder so many has fallen.</p><p>Yet the Hero finds no bodies among the rocks.</p><p>Are these beast truly so horrible, that they eat not only through flesh and bone, but through armor and weapons as well?</p><p>They will not become another meal for the mountain. </p><p>They go on.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p> ------~wTw~------ </p>
</div>They find the blade.<p>The new Hero was expecting a grand pedestal, or perhaps even an entire temple dedicated to it.</p><p>Instead the blade lies on the ground, discarded.</p><p>But they were sure this was the blade.</p><p>For one, the Alchemist had described the blade in detail, from it's golden curved handle, to its gem encrusted blade.</p><p>But the most telling, were the beast's carcasses surrounding it.</p><p>The flesh burnt off, leaving only their bones behind. </p><p>Then it was true, everyone and everything that tried to touch the blade will be destroyed by it, if deemed unworthy.</p><p>The Hero thinks back to the Alchemist sorrowful and almost defeated expression, every time their eyes met they could feel such regret and despair.</p><p>Perhaps after so many decades, the Alchemist had given up on a Hero retrieving the sword.</p><p>But they promised.</p><p>They are so scared they are sure the monsters in the base of the mountain can hear their heartbeats.</p><p>But their hand remain steady.</p><p>The Hero grabs the sword, and for the first time, they feel whole.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p> ------~wTw~------ </p>
</div>The trip back is filled with even more attacks.<p>The Hero isn't scared anymore.</p><p>The blade is incredible, it flows with their arm with a grace any royal could never hope to reach, and bites into his enemies with a strength any dragon would quiver before.</p><p>It feels like no weapon the Hero has ever wielded.</p><p>It's like the sword was made for them.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p> ------~wTw~------ </p>
</div>Even with the blade, it takes the Hero just as many days to return to the Alchemist's residence.<p>But the old man isn't waiting for them at the door.</p><p>The old man is inside, occupying his favorite chair, the one near the fireplace.</p><p>Dead.</p><p>Even in death, he looks worried and poorly rested. </p><p>And there, clutched on his only hand, is his journal, a tome as old as him was.</p><p>The Hero mournfully wraps the body in silken sheets, and lies it down on the Alchemist's bed.</p><p>Not sure where their friend would like to be put to rest, the Hero turns to the journal, perhaps there lays the old man final wishes.</p><p>And he did always said that knowledge was meant to be shared as wine among friends, not hoarded like gold among kings.</p><p>They meant to start near the end, to search for a final will, but the Hero can't help but start at the beginning.</p><p>They learn so much of their friend that they didn't know.</p><p>And many of these things deeply surprises them.</p><p>Like his contempt towards the kingdom.</p><p>
  <i>Bastards, bastards and cowards the lot of them. They mourn your loss, yet they didn't knew you at all! They know not of the way your grin sharpened whenever we found ourselves outnumbered, they are ignorant of how you would constantly endanger yourself near cliff edges, just to coddle and baby talk to a nest full of newly hatched harpy chicks.</i>
</p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p>
  <i>Unaware, of how you sobbed in guilt and shame, the first and only time you were forced to slay a dragon, magnificent creatures that they are.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>No, they don't mourn you, they mourn their protection, they mourn not having to endanger themselves instead of just sending you towards the danger.<i></i></i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i></i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i></i>
  </i>
</p><p><i>Cowards.</i> </p><p>The Hero remembers the Alchemist, how eloquent and organized his speech was, but here on the pages, he rants and goes off tangent so much.</p><p>It feels appropriate, fitting. Perhaps, they were listening to the Alchemist's real way of thinking.</p><p>It felt like getting to know him even more, so the Hero keeps reading.</p><p>
  <i>I remember how ignorant I was of others in my youth, being raised alone in the streets being the obvious culprit, yet I still find humorous just how long it took me to understand my feelings towards you.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Having know not the love of family, I remember thinking, perhaps this is how brothers feel? After all I heard many knights refer to each other as brothers in arms, even though none of them were bound by blood.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Then, in our teen years, I saw you bloody, your robes teared to scraps, as you triumphantly stood on your opponent's back with a grin sharper than any blade, and felt a blush so intense that my magic got out of control and set my own robes ablaze.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Even while laughing, you tried your best to extinguish the flames, and then tried your best to kiss my blush away.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>You succeeded only in the first task.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Even decades after, you never let me live that down.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I am so sorry my love. </i>
</p><p>Perhaps the most shocking surprise so far, was the sheer hate the Alchemist felt towards the sword. Even tho he always assisted those seeking it to best of his ability.</p><p>
  <i>How much I wish to curse the day that blade fell onto your hands, yet I can't. Not when it bring you so much joy, Not when it burned away the unworthy yet pleasantly warmed your hands. The way you danced with every swing, the way you crushed down every opponent.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The way your eyes shined, whenever it assisted you saving someone.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>You loved that sword so much.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Yet, it's strength was so, that the kingdom kept sending you to more and more dangerous quests, each one deadlier than the last.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>And you, brave selfless idiot that you were, could never say no, no matter how scared or injured you got.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Then, the mountain.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I still don't know how I survived myself, but I will never forget that moment, when I finally slayed down the last monster, only to turn around and see you sprawled on the floor, among the creatures corpses.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I felt my heart be ripped apart that day.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>It never healed.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>And that blade, that accursed, hellish blade was the one to blame.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>But I couldn't just leave it there, you loved it so much.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>And as soon as I grabbed the handle, intent nothing more than to bury it alongside you, it burned my hand away.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I was barely able to stop the curse in time.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>It was the last insult, calling me unworthy as I sobbed over your body.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I screamed every obscenity I could think about, some that I even made up in the spot, I screamed and screamed until my throat burned.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>But I couldn't find it in myself to cast any literal curse on the blade.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>You loved it so much.</i>
</p><p><i>So I spat on it, and dragged your body home as best as I could, sobbing in grief for my love, in pain for my new stump, and in rage. Rage towards the sword and this stupid kingdom.</i> </p><p>Ever since they left the mountain, the weight of the sword on their back felt comforting, like a heavy blanket, but now it felt more akin to a heavy load of firewood.</p><p>Even so, the Hero kept reading.</p><p>
  <i>The kingdom is falling into chaos. Monsters and bandits alike have heard words of your passing, and are moving more and move into the lands.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I feel an intense guilt.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Not towards the kingdom, it could burn, the King may drown on his subjects blood for all I care!</i>
</p><p>
  <i>My guilt is towards you, because you would not wish for this.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>For your blade to lay abandoned in the dirt, for our home to turn to ashes.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>No... You wouldn't wish for this, my love. You would wish for someone to pick up your sword again, and use it to defend this lands once more.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>And I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to make it happen. I will return to this land its Hero. </i>
</p><p>Then the Alchemist's journal shows the true genius of it's author, pages upon pages filled to the brim with calculations, ritual, spells, and so much more, words so advanced and complicated that the Hero knows he could spend the rest of his life devoting himself to learn the magic and science behind it, and still make no sense of it at all.</p><p>Then the Hero reaches the final page, and their breath stops for a moment.</p><p>Because even though the pages are yellowed with age, the ink looks much more fresh than the other ones, it must be days old at most.</p><p>And it was addressed to them.</p><p>
  <i>I was never a man of religion, yet I cannot help but pray that you are reading these words.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Because if you are in fact reading, that means you succeed where so many before you have failed, it means you bought the sword back.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>You were, you are, my last hope.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I'm so tired, so old. I'm too weak to try again. My magic, my soul, it fades, I can feel it.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I will not live to see you return, if you return at all.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>But if you do, and again I pray you do, you have one more dungeon to best, one more horror to face, in my study, underneath the carpet you will find the stairs to my laboratory and research chambers.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I will not ask for your forgiveness, for I'm sure I don't deserve it, but I ask for your understanding.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>You are my last hope.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I am so tired.</i>
</p><p>With a feeling of dread growing in their stomach, the Hero does just as their friend ask of them, they find the stairs and descend into the laboratories.</p><p>The instruments and machinery looks so advanced, so many shelves filled with strange artifacts and objects so alien to them.</p><p>The deeper the Hero goes, the more grotesque yet advanced the experiments looked like, they could even see multiple ritual circles carved in the middle of some side rooms.</p><p>Then the Hero reached the last chamber.</p><p>A tomb.</p><p>The Hero counts fifteen coffins, fourteen in two rows of seven, and a single one on a pedestal, overlooking all the others. </p><p>The one in the pedestal was the only one with an open lid.</p><p>The Hero approaches, and can see the telltale signs of the Alchemist's magic, the lack of smell of decay means there's most likely some sort of preservation spell in place.</p><p>The Hero reaches the open coffin, and stares at who they are sure was the first wielder of the blade, the Alchemist's love.</p><p>And the Hero's knees feel weak, because they look eerie similar to themselves.</p><p>Not identical, since the Hero died much older than their current age, but it's there, in the shape of the eyes, the curve of both their noses, the hair and skin color.</p><p>With shaking hands, the Hero turns his back to the corpse, and inspects the others. After removing the lids, they find  more of the same hair, the same curved noses, the same skin.</p><p>They can feel the world tilting, or perhaps that's just how hard they are shaking.</p><p>They remember the Alchemist's oath to find someone else worthy of the blade no matter what it took.</p><p>The once comforting weight of the sword now feels like a crushing force, heavier than the very mountain they took it from.</p><p>The hero falls to their knees.</p><p>The sword wasn't made for them.</p><p>They sob.</p><p>They were made for the sword.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Edit the second: I'm so dumb I messed up a lot of junk trying to add the italized code I miss</p><p>Anyway</p><p>Enjoy, please comment</p></blockquote></div></div>
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